


Some Fortune

by inksheddings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can't think of a better word than surreal to describe having Stiles as a regular companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is 17 in this fic, so I warned for underage sexual activity, just in case. 
> 
> This is oh-so cliched and unbeta'd, but I had fun writing it, so there! :P Finally, a wee bit of porn. And possibly too much of Derek's introspection. 
> 
> I hope it's enjoyable.

** Some Fortune **

Derek hasn't had much personal contact with Stiles since the Alpha pack's intentions became loud and clear. Stiles helped out any way he could – research, driving, supplies – but Scott generally delivered whatever Stiles procured. After what Gerard did to Stiles, Derek couldn't blame him for staying on the outskirts of the activity while still helping protect his friends and family, his home.

But here they both are. Derek is standing over the bodies of the last two Alphas and Stiles is on the floor, leaning against one of the abandoned train car's seats. It was Stiles who'd made it possible for Derek to get in the last killing blows through a combination of his ever-present and distracting verbal skills and two pockets full of Mountain Ash.

It's the Mountain Ash that's keeping Derek from helping Stiles now, as a matter of fact. Stiles is covered in it, bleeding in it, and Derek can't even reach out and get him on his feet. Derek growls his frustration, feels himself shifting again, even though it won't do any good.

"Down, boy," Stiles says, as if it never gets old, pushing himself up into the actual seat. "Just, dump a bucket of water on me or something."

It's a ridiculous idea, but it works. It turns out that Stiles isn't terribly hurt, his wounds superficial and likely not to scar. His personality certainly hasn't suffered for all his body has been through. Once everyone else has arrived and is helping remove the bodies, Stiles glances around the train station-cum-battlefield and quips, "I think you're going to need to hire a new interior decorator. Or a demolition expert. Either one should get the job done."

Derek doesn't want to smile, shouldn't smile, but does anyway.

 

* * * * *

Derek very much likes his apartment. He moved in nearly three months ago, after the Alpha pack, and it's finally starting to get that lived-in feel. He's added some photographs to the walls (old and new), thick area rugs over the pitifully beige carpeting, and he even bought a few potted plants. 

His fridge is stocked, too, with items that aren't solely for his own consumption. Erica likes Diet Pepsi (not Diet Coke and definitely none of that generic shit), Isaac is partial to string cheese, and Boyd doesn't mind the occasional vanilla yogurt. Derek doesn't stock anything for Peter, but that doesn't keep him from bringing his own beer over when he decides to attempt uncle/nephew bonding session # 27 or whatever number they're at now. 

Peter isn't insane anymore. He's not power hungry. But he's also not the uncle Derek loved before the fire. Derek will never forgive Peter for killing Laura, even if that version of Peter is gone now. Anyway, Derek doesn't stock anything for Peter – not food, not drink, and certainly not childhood memories. But Derek can't quite tell him to stop coming around, either.

But the point is, Derek likes his apartment, and everyone in his pack seems to approve. Scott has even been over several times, and he barely snickers at the old-fashioned coat rack Derek keeps by the door. Actually, the only person who hasn't been over yet is Stiles, though Derek can't really think of a valid reason for Stiles to show up unless Scott dragged him over, which is unlikely. 

So, Derek is more than a little surprised when the person ringing his door bell turns out to be Stiles.

"Hey."

"Hey," Derek says in return. "What's wrong?"

Stiles works his jaw for a moment, obviously taken off-guard by Derek's question. Derek relaxes, realizing that whatever Stiles is here for, it's not because of anything dangerous. 

"Ahh, nothing, dude," Stiles says. "Nothing. I just um . . . heard you had this sweet new place and, uh, thought I'd come by and see." 

"I've had it for three months." Derek cringes internally. That sounded harsh, even to his own ears.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and backing away. "Okay, bad idea. I'll just—"

"Are you coming in?" Derek asks, holding the door open and making way for Stiles to pass through. 

Stiles stops moving and purses his lips together before opening them with an audible _pop_. He holds up a bag Derek hadn't noticed before and points to it. "I brought snacks. Some even have meat in them."

Derek doesn't want to smile, but knows he should smile, so he does anyway.

 

* * * * *

Stiles starts coming by more often. At first, Derek has no clue why. Slowly, as the weeks turn into months, Derek pieces it together.

"Scott and Isaac are, I don't know, playing tag in the woods or something," Stiles shares one night.

"Oh, yeah, we're going to the movies tonight, actually, all three of us," Stiles says another afternoon. "But Scott's got a shift at Deaton's right now, and Isaac went to keep him company or something." 

Scott and Stiles are still good friends, but Scott has also been hanging out with Isaac a lot, which Derek knows. Derek approves, actually. Scott has done a lot to bring Isaac out of his shell, and Scott is nowhere near as antagonistic toward Derek as he used to be. 

But Scott also has been trying to keep Stiles out of as much werewolf business as possible. Stiles has nearly been killed on many occasions, most notably by Gerard and the Alphas. Granted, everyone in the pack has had near brushes with death, but what they can – and have – survived, physically, Stiles would not. So, Scott has developed a protective streak a mile wide and sometimes it leaves Stiles out in the cold. 

Coming over to Derek's is Stiles way of staying in the loop. Or at least, Derek thinks, it starts out that way. It can't be the only reason, however, because Stiles rarely talks shop. He brings over food while Derek has learned to keep 2-liter bottles of Sprite handy and they either watch horrible movies on Syfy or play cards. Stiles is ridiculously good at gin rummy.

It's surreal. Derek can't think of a better word to describe having Stiles as a regular companion. And that's what he's turned into – someone Derek looks forward to seeing. 

Everything keeps on, just the same, and next thing Derek knows Stiles' seventeenth birthday has come and gone and they are still hanging out more nights than not. Stiles' dad is even aware of their friendship. On the occasions when Derek runs into him in town, Sheriff Stilinski's understandably suspicious greetings grow friendlier. 

In other words, things are going well. So well that Derek is concerned about blowing the whole thing because Stiles' presence, whether next to him on the couch or in the car on the way to a diner, has lately been eliciting more than friendly feelings. It should make Derek feel like a pervert, but it doesn't. Stiles has seen and dealt admirably with more than most people twice his age will ever even know exists. No, it's not the age thing. It's the fact that Derek considers Stiles his friend, and he doesn't want to lose that because Stiles is starting to fill out in all the right places.

But Stiles surprises Derek again, one Friday evening after a vigorous four rounds of Go Fish.

"We could, you know. . ." Stiles says, sitting unnaturally still at the kitchen table.

"Could what?" Derek asks, grabbing a beer out of the fridge before they move over to the couch for some bad TV.

"Have sex. We could have sex."

Derek puts the beer back on the shelf and closes the fridge. He can't quite bring himself to turn around. "I . . . what?"

Stiles laughs and starts tapping both feet against the floor, the sound muffled by the thick rug under the table. "Joking! Joking. Okay, not joking. But it could be a joke, if that makes you feel better about the words that came out of my mouth."

Derek turns around and looks at Stiles. The expression of terror on Stiles' face is not quite reminiscent of when one of the Alphas had him by the throat, but it's damn near close and that's all the incentive Derek needs.

Two quick steps and he's hauling Stiles out of the chair and kissing him. Stiles nearly pulls them both over onto the floor, his arms flailing until he gets with the program and places them on either side of Derek's face, then up into his hair so he can pull at it gently. Stiles is kissing back, is actually the one to first get their tongues involved, and it's wonderful. Kissing Stiles is wonderful. 

Derek walks the both of them toward the couch in the living room. He pushes Stiles down and settles on top of him. Stiles moves his hands across Derek's back until his fingertips slide underneath Derek's jeans. Derek moans into Stiles' mouth and can't help but thrust his hips in response.

"Shit," Stiles says. "This is okay? Really?"

Derek pushes his erection against Stiles' and bites his bottom lip. "Yes, this is really okay. Okay?"

Stiles smiles and works his hands even further under Derek's jeans. "Okay." 

Derek lifts off of Stiles just enough to open both their flies. He also shifts their bodies so they're lying side-by-side, making it easier for Derek to push Stiles' underwear out of the way and take hold of his cock. Stiles bucks into his hand and breaks their kiss.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, I am not going to last," Stiles says, but doesn't stop thrusting into Derek's hand.

Derek licks the shell of Stiles' ear and bites down hard on the lobe. His own cock is pushing against Stiles' hip, still trapped under cotton briefs, but the sounds Stiles is making, now that Derek has a good rhythm going, are hot enough that Derek wonders if he'll go off just like this, rubbing off against Stiles' body as if they were both teenagers.

"I wanna touch you," Stiles says, bringing one of his hands around and pushing it between their bodies. 

But Stiles is so close to coming, and so obviously new and awkward – it ratchets up Derek's desire to the point where he nearly does come in his pants. Instead, he lets go of Stiles long enough to get his own underwear out of the way and line up their cocks. He takes Stiles' hand and guides him until both their hands are wrapped around their cocks and Derek sets a pace that has them tumbling over the edge into orgasm within minutes. 

Stiles first, with a chant of, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," falling out of his mouth and Derek just laps it all up, his tongue licking Stiles' lips. He smooths Stiles' come around and between their cocks until it's Derek's turn to white out and add to the mess.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's back and pulls him as close as he possibly can. Derek feels how fast his heart is beating, and it lulls him. Derek thinks he could fall asleep just like this, Stiles underneath him, their come between them. But minutes pass and Stiles' heart rate isn't going down. Derek raises himself up and one look at Stiles' face reveals the problem. Stiles is scared.

Derek doesn't know what to say to reassure Stiles that everything's okay. Then Derek wonders if everything _is_ okay. 

"Hey, you wanted this?" Derek asks, uncertain, touching his nose against Stiles'.

Stiles releases a long breath and nods his head. "Yeah, I did. I do. I just—"

Derek kisses Stiles, with care, then bumps their noses again. "Me too."

Stiles still has his arms around Derek's back. Smiling, with his heart rate going up yet again (but for much more sensible reasons), he wraps his legs around Derek's hips and leans his head back against the cushions. "Sweet."

Derek has lost count of how many times he's wanted to smile around Stiles since they started this thing between them, all those months ago. And he couldn't say how many times he held those smiles back, whether to piss Stiles off or get him to try harder to coax them out of Derek. What Derek does know is that, right now? He wants to capture the smile off Stiles' face and make it his own. So he does.

 

**end**


End file.
